“And that.”
“Thank you for the advice. I will pass it on. No guarantees it will be followed.”
“I suspect as much.” We approach the tents of Morgan’s men, and a thought strikes me. “One more piece of advice.”
“Aren’t you full of wisdom today.”
“Don’t name the baby after that traitorous bastard.”
She sniffs disdainfully.
“Never.”
CHAPTER XVIII
The traffic is busy at rush hour. I weave in and out of the highway lanes, lost in thought. Each tantalizing hint of Drew’s whereabouts is met by dead end after dead end. My vision from Drew’s lauvan this morning showed me only the inside of the car again, with no clue about location. I don’t have much hope that Bethany will know any more—if she’d found out anything I’m sure she would have called—but I’m running out of ideas. I touch the lauvan at my center reflectively and my fingers find Anna’s strand intertwined with mine. That’s my next step, my final plan. She is my only link to Potestas. Drew may have gone rogue but the organization will know how to contact him. My heart races with anger at Anna and annoyance at myself. Why do I keep making the same mistakes? She may have had supernatural help in masking her true intentions but I still should have been more cautious. It’s wearying to not have life under control after so many years of practice.
My eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror frequently but no one matches my pace, which I deliberately increased to watch for followers. Good. Removing the piece of paper that Anna planted worked—I burned it in Wayne’s bathroom sink last night and the air lauvan floated away.
I pull into a street-side parking spot just as Bethany arrives at the shop door, keys jingling.
“Bethany.” I slam the car door and lope to her side.
“Merry! How nice to see you.”
“This isn’t a social call, I’m afraid. New developments have me desperate for news. Have you heard anything more about Drew Mordecai or Potestas? Has Anna Green contacted you recently?”
“Anna? No, I haven’t heard from her in ages. Come in, and tell me what’s happened. I’ll see if I can help.”
She pulls the door shut behind us and leaves the “closed” sign in the window.
“Drew shot me,” I say without preamble. “No lasting damage, but you can imagine that I’m not pleased.”
Bethany brings a hand to her mouth in a gesture of dismay, then says, “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. He’s incredibly difficult to track down, so I’m focusing on defense, with some success. I used earth energies to make a barrier against the air energies he controls. It deflects them well enough, but is awkward because I have piles of rocks in my house and car.”
Bethany looks thoughtful and traces her hand along the counter absentmindedly.
“Earth is air’s opposite—that’s sensible. But what if you fought fire with fire, so to speak? Hmm, perhaps not the best idiom to use,” Bethany says when I grin. “Use the air energies themselves, if you can.”
“What if the spirits use the energies I’ve collected, and I create a worse problem for myself?”
“That’s possible. I suppose it will depend on your strength and abilities. Let’s see.” She walks around her shop, examining crystals, picking up incense, running fingers over bracelets. She returns with one hand carrying an old-fashioned pendant on a clunky gold chain with the eye of a peacock feather in resin on its face. The other holds a pack of incense. She rummages in her purse and extracts a lighter, then catches my eye.
“Old habits die hard,” she says. “Take my lighter and save me from myself.”
“Thanks. I assume the incense isn’t to make my apartment smell like,” I check the package. “Cedar?”
“Cedar is beneficial for balance and grounding, and the pendant has a long history as a traveler’s good luck charm. Plus, the feather can’t hurt.”
I peer at the multicolored lauvan swirling around the pendant.
“There are a few air energies tangled up here. Good find.” I look at Bethany’s wistful face.
“What a gift.” She shakes her head and says more firmly. “One more thing that might help. It just occurred to me.” She pulls a leather-bound book off the shelf behind her counter. “This is a copy of an old grimoire smuggled out of Salem during the witch trials. It’s a fascinating compendium of early wiccan belief. But what I really wanted to show you was this spell.”
She flips through and stops on a page in the center. A stylized north wind blows air through puffed cheeks above a short paragraph of spiky handwriting.
“It’s a spell for controlling a storm. I have no idea if there is anything to it, but somebody believed in it enough to risk writing it down in those times.”
Bethany has armed me with an odd assortment of weapons. I wonder if there is merit in any of them. My eyes strain to read the unfamiliar writing.
Saye this, the more the strongere the gale.
Festina, o Zephyre! Irascare, Auster dirus! Consurge, o ventus Boreas! Fles violenter, Eurus currens!
“Always with the Latin,” I mutter to myself. “Will that language never die?”
“Would you like me to copy it out for you? I don’t understand it myself.”
“No need. I know Latin, and it’s repetitive and easy to memorize. Run, winds of the west! Rage, storm of the south! Rise, tempest of the north! Blow, gusts of the east!”
“Latin too? You are full of surprises, Merry. I’m sorry I don’t have any suggestions on how to use these things.”
I read the Latin spell once more for good measure, then slide the incense and lighter into my pocket. The necklace I drape over my head and tuck into my shirt.
“Just my style. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. The incense is cheap and when this has all blown over, you can bring the necklace back.”
“Thanks, Bethany.”
“Smooth sailing, Merry. May the wind be always at your back.”
“I hope not. How will I see it coming?”
She laughs and I wave as I go. I don’t know what use her trinkets will be, but it’s warming to have people on my side.
***
Ten steps around the corner, and a mass of air lauvan descends. It surrounds my head in a tight layer, enveloping my eyes, filling my nose and mouth. A paralyzing sensation of airlessness takes over—my lungs are empty and nothing I do can fill them with life-sustaining air once again.
My panic lasts only a moment before I remember that I can last for a minute or two without air if I must. I’ve done it before. A cool head is what’s needed to solve this conundrum.
I first grab great handfuls of the lauvan that fill my mouth, but they prove slippery and immovable. It was worth a try. My lungs burn, and I ignore them. Panic won’t help.
Next, I pick up a rock from the ground and twist its lauvan into a rope which I wrap around the bundle of lauvan surrounding my mouth. The air lauvan twitch, but repel the rock’s lauvan.
My chest involuntarily heaves with an unfulfilled breath. I’m running out of time and options. My head is light but I try to think. What else can I do?
Bethany’s weapons spring to mind. Will they work? Do I have any other choice? I jam my hand into my pocket to extract the package of incense. My fingers fumble with the envelope until I remove a stick of incense and my thumb rasps over the lighter’s wheel three times before the damn thing lights. Spots appear in my vision and I hold the incense in front of my mouth with a fervent hope that this will work. For good measure, I bring the necklace out of my shirt and hold the pendant on my chin.
For a moment, nothing changes. My oxygen-starved brain whirls frantically to find another solution but nothing surfaces. I’ve emerged victorious from countless battles with humans, but I don’t know if I’ll survive an altercation with the spirit world. I’m out of my league.
My eyes waver in and out of focus, and my body shakes with repressed breaths, but through t
he incense tiny tendrils of lauvan gather. If lack of air weren’t already the problem, I would hold my breath. There are more lauvan than I would expect from such a tiny amount of smoke. What did Bethany say? I can harness the wind, depending on my strength and abilities? Feverishly, I chant the Latin spell in my head, channeling my thoughts toward the steady stream of air lauvan in the smoke. My own lauvan join and mingle, and with every phrase I utter in my mind, the strands in the smoke grow denser.
They begin to swirl, and gather the lauvan blocking my mouth in a tiny whirlwind that pulses to my rapidly beating heart. I muster all my mental strength into forcing power behind the words in my head. The swirl increases in speed.
Festina, o Zephyre! Irascare, Auster dirus! Consurge, o ventus Boreas! Fles violenter, Eurus currens!
My vision tunnels but before I black out completely, the last of the air lauvan leaves my mouth. Beautiful, delicious, life-saving air pours in, so much that I choke on the plenitude. I drop to my knees and cough uncontrollably. When the coughing stops, I stay on my knees and simply breathe, deeply and laboriously.
Adrenaline still courses through my body, but my mind begins to clear and I can think about more than my immediate survival. Drew and his spirit are behind this attack, I have no doubt. And Drew is often nearby when his spirit channels the wind. Perhaps they must stay close? I look around from my vantage point on the pavement, but only one curious old man stares at me from a nearby doorway.
“You all right, son?” he calls.
I wave feebly in response, and he nods and continues to push his walker along the sidewalk. How did Drew even find me? He must have followed me in his car, unnoticed even with my diligence. It doesn’t matter—how do I find him now? Drew is never in sight. But I know how to see him.
I stagger to my feet and fumble with the door handle of my car. Drew’s gloves are on the seat, with his lauvan inside. My fingers tremble when I slip them into the glove—I’m still breathing hard from the lack of air—but they grip the lauvan firmly. I’m shocked when the thread emerges, almost transparent and limp in the morning sunlight. It won’t last much longer. I touch the oily patch and close my eyes. A swirl of color transports me to Drew, who runs along a sidewalk. A black sock flops in his hand, and with a jolt I recognize my own chocolate-brown lauvan waving feebly from it. Is that how he found me? There’s a flash of a sign depicting “Art’s Bakery.” Drew is on the next street.
I jog toward the intersection, but before I take five steps I double over with a fresh bout of coughs. A chase on foot is out, for the moment. I could massage the twisted brown lauvan around my throat, but Drew would still get away by the time I finish.
I shove my fingers into the glove once more. Perhaps I can see the direction Drew is moving in, follow with my car. But the frail lauvan scarcely reaches the light of day before it disappears, disintegrates into wisps of nothing.
“Dammit!” I slam my palm against the hood of my car. It glances off a hailstone dent, and a fresh wave of anger swells on top of the tempest brewing within. Now I have no leads and no way to find Drew.
There is only one course left to follow. I glance down at the single purple lauvan that travels due north from my center, intertwined with a single brown thread of mine. I don’t relish this reunion, but I have no other recourse. I have to find Anna.
I slam the car door shut with far more force than necessary, and shift into gear as if I’m mashing Drew’s head with the motion. I think of all the ways I’d like to make him suffer. My worry is that I won’t be able to. Drew’s weak vessel houses a powerful force that I’m only beginning to understand. The fact that I’ve survived this many attacks must be enlightening to Potestas. I wonder what they make of me—if they’re keeping as close an eye on Drew as I think they are.
I join the highway to make up time, since Anna’s lauvan continue to direct me north. Traffic has eased slightly from the morning rush, and I weave in and out of the lines of cars, desperate to get to Anna and find some answers. I have no idea what I’ll say. I should be angry at her, but I don’t have a lot of energy left over from being angry at myself. I should have known better.
Once I cross the bridge into Vancouver proper, my lauvan swing left. I wait until they are perpendicular, then I signal and turn at the next intersection. Following a lauvan connection is simple, but the best way is to spiral around the person until I reach them, and it always takes more time than I wish.
The lauvan veer left again, and again I wait until they are behind me before I make my turn. The roads are less busy here, and the streets are dim with huge deciduous trees that hang gracefully over the road to form a leafy tunnel. The houses are old and expensive, three storeys each and full of ornate details uncommon in today’s houses. I doubt Anna has the money to buy anything here—it must be a Potestas house. What sort of scale does this operation run on, and who funds it?
Another left, later than I would have wished due to a one-way road, and then another. I’m very close now. I’ve narrowed it down to one block—it’s time to park and follow my quarry on foot.
Halfway down the block, the fragile purple and brown lauvan that run from me to Anna point straight into a white house with dark green trim. It looks innocuous enough. I square my shoulders and ready myself for the confrontation. I need answers, however I have to get them. I hope Anna is forthcoming.
How should I enter? Sneak through the back door? Break the window in a dramatic fashion? I weigh my options, then decide that Anna has no real reason to run, or any expectation that I will show up on her doorstep. I take the steps two at a time and pound on the solid wood door. Even the neighbors would have heard that knock.
Less than a minute passes before the deadbolt slides and the door swings open.
“There you are,” Anna says. She’s dressed in tightly fitting exercise clothing, and wears a smug and satisfied expression. “Took you long enough. Come in.” She turns and walks unhurriedly down the wood-floored hallway.
I stand at the threshold for a moment. She was expecting me? How much does she know? I step inside once I realize that I won’t get any answers on the front porch, and follow Anna into a dimly lit kitchen at the back of the house. Anna stands at the kitchen island, calmly peeling an orange.
“How did you know I was coming?”
“Please. How stupid do you think I am? I know you have some way of tracking me. You found me at Mt. Linnigan multiple times. I was simply waiting for you to realize what I was up to.”
“So leaving Potestas was a complete lie. Something you’re uncommonly good at.”
“Naturally. I’m still intensely interested in getting my own powers. I have big plans. As for the deception, well, I may have had a little supernatural help.” She pops an orange segment in her mouth.
“You came to my place just to plant the note? I didn’t realize you were so calculating.”
Anna tilts her head and studies me.
“I would feel bad about it, except I get the sense you would do the same.”
I have nothing to say to this, because she’s not wrong. I don’t truly feel betrayed, simply angry with myself for being duped so easily.
“Besides,” she adds. “It wasn’t all work and no play. I do enjoy your company. If you ever want to reconsider your position regarding Potestas, you let me know.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that.” When pigs fly. I won’t be deceived by Anna. Never again.
“I’m dying to know your secret, Merry.” She rolls an orange across the counter toward me. I make no move to intercept it, and it comes to a halt, wobbling close to the edge. “How do you find me? How can you see spirits?”
“It’s almost charming that you think I will tell you anything you can use against me. You’ll have to try harder than that.”
“Don’t say I didn’t ask politely.” Anna pulls a cell phone toward her from the edge of the island. “The org thought you might need more of an incentive to spill your secrets. Here, look at this.” She holds the phone up f
or me to see.
A picture shows on the screen, of an unfinished log-walled room with one tiny window. An old-fashioned wood-burning stove squats in one corner. In the center of the room sits a man, bound to a wooden chair and gagged.
“Alejandro,” I breathe. “What the hell have you done, Anna?”
“It wasn’t me. I’m just the messenger.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re part of all this—take some responsibility.” I rub my hands over my knuckles, itching to take out my anger and fear for Alejandro on someone. Of course Potestas would go after those I care about. If I’d thought a little harder, I could have foreseen this. I was too preoccupied with chasing Drew. Where are they holding Alejandro? I look at our connecting lauvan, but they ascend straight into the air. How bizarre—he can’t be in an airplane. Then I see tiny wisps of air lauvan wrapped around the connection, pulling, holding it up and away so that I am unable to locate Alejandro. I pluck at an air thread experimentally, but it breaks easily and then reforms around the lauvan. I can’t rely on the connection to find him—I need Anna.
“If anything happens to Alejandro, I’m holding you personally responsible. You and anyone I can find in your little cult. You don’t want to be on my bad side, trust me.”
She doesn’t look worried, and continues to pop orange segments into her mouth.
“We have no interest in harming him. It’s simple, really. We only want information, and your promise to desist in searching for Potestas.”
“Stop searching—I’m only hunting you down because fucking Drew Mordecai keeps trying to kill me!” I take a deep breath and hold onto the edge of the counter. Keep it together, Merry. It’s the only way to help Alejandro.
“Of course, that nonsense will stop immediately. Trying to kill you wasn’t on the org’s agenda. Drew’s primary loyalty is with Potestas, and he will do as he is told.”
“I knew Potestas had a hand in Drew’s actions. Teasing apart truth and lies from your words isn’t easy, Anna. How do you mask your lies so well?”
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